Loop
by reveileb maerdyad
Summary: After a month-long absence from Balamb, Seifer finds himself invisible and able to pass through anything. Quite dead, in fact. This is a story of finding oneself after death and, well, icky love triangles.. Post-game.
1. Paglisan, Kamatayan

The summary says it all for the gist of this chapter. Don't let that hinder you from reading, though. ^_^;; One thing to note is that all chapters (if I've a mind of continuing) are going to be packed with names/terms of videogame "misc." not necessarily affiliated with the FF8 world. (Note: just _names_, okay? This is by no means a multi-crossover. Eep, that.) I figure I might as well dedicate this test chapter to legendary spoony bards and tone-deaf evil fiends, for making many an antisocial night enjoyable. Rally-ho! (Please read the final notes below. Yes, you can't escape from my babbling that easily. Mwahaha.)

**Disclaimer:** Squaresoft owns everything Final Fantasy viii-related, along with the spoony bards and evil fiends. The characters you don't recognize are mine, although most of their names are shamelessly borrowed from other games – the likes of which I would so love to enumerate but have no time to spare. : (

* * *

**Loop **

****

**_Because I could not stop for Death, _**

**_He kindly stopped for me; _**

**_The carriage held but just ourselves _**

**_And Immortality. _**

**_- Emily Dickinson_**

**One: Paglisan, Kamatayan**

"I'll be seeing all of you in a few months!" Seifer Almasy called out impatiently, putting on sunglasses and turning around to get the last of the tearful goodbyes over with. Almost immediately, the wailing grew louder and more intense, and so Seifer promptly quickened his pace, no longer caring if he looked to be the most undignified ambassador to ever pass the walkway.

"_In a few months!"_ he roared without looking back, effectively earning loud snickers from passersby. This time, the general chaos thankfully turned down, and he eagerly assumed that the kids and their guardians had finally decided to go back to the Center and let him leave with less of a spectacle, if no longer in peace. And not a moment too soon. The Centra sun was roasting brightly overhead, and no cloud was in sight to sully the greeting warmth of the rays. The air was pleasantly refreshing, with every breath filled with nostalgia for things unnamed. Everything was perfect for his return trip to Balamb.

Despite his feeling uncomfortable with the most recent mushy encounter of his career, he couldn't help smirking a bit as he carelessly swung his duffel bag over his shoulder and started to board one of Balamb's official aircrafts. He had liked those kids and all, but they didn't have to cry so much, did they? It wasn't like they had gotten so emotionally attached to him in the space of only one month, and for his part, he had certainly tried his best to detach himself from them.

_So why do I feel like I've just attended my own funeral?_ he thought, with a bewildered shake of his head.

A slight but insistent tugging at the hem of his coat caught his attention. Looking down, his eyes met the clearest blue he had ever seen, reminding him of old times when he had for hours stared at the Balamb sky as it was reflected against his gunblade. There was something else, something unnerving – these unblinking eyes were also the blankest he had ever seen. His initial irritation at being interrupted fled, and he gulped down what would have been a gentle tirade. 

"Mr. Seifer?" the little girl with the glassy eyes asked shyly, still tugging at his coat. "... Where are you going next?"

"Hey," was all he could say. Putting down his bag and signaling for the pilot to wait a few more minutes, Seifer knelt in front of the girl, and gently disentangled her hand from his coat. All the while, he wracked his brain for any information on who this girl might be and why the hell he hadn't seen her before. All the kids from the _Centra Center for Disadvantaged Children_ were familiar to him – and this one definitely wasn't. Then again, maybe he was simply being his usual arrogant self and too overconfident with his unfaultable memory. _Heh._

"Mr. Seifer?" she asked again, in a louder voice that was edged with uncertainty. Her arm once again reached over, and this time almost successfully poked out his left eye, so he took it and folded it between his own fingers. Only then did it hit Seifer that she was actually blind – and he felt a sudden pang at the thought. 

"I'm going home," he said simply. 

"Home." She uttered it like it was a foreign word. 

"Yeah." Wondering what to say next, he went ahead and studied her. Slender and delicate, she looked to be about eleven. Short silver hair cut in a weird fashion that looked like a cross between a chocobo and little Selphie Tilmitt, a pointed little nose, and a strong, stubborn chin. His eyes widened involuntarily as he realized that the frayed pink dress she wore was actually turned inside out, and with obvious stitches here and there. More than a little intrigued, he asked her, "Your name?"

"Me?" she said, seeming pleased and surprised at being asked. Her smile dazzled him. "My name's Leena, Sir. Leena Marie Slambert." 

"Leena." The word rolled smoothly off his tongue, like glazed honey on freshly baked bread. It was at the tip of his tongue to ask her about her dress, but then thought better of it. Matters of clothing and style might just embarrass her, and he didn't want to make her feel uneasy. He was amused at the subtle nudge of sensitivity he had just entertained now that he had forced the oddity of her appearance off his mind. "It sounds pretty," he said instead, referring to her name. 

Leena blushed with delight. "Th-Thank you, Mr. Seifer." 

He found himself grinning widely, and with his other hand took something small and shiny out of the inner folds of his cloak. Mussing Leena's hair a bit, an affectionate gesture he still wasn't used to doing, he opened the tiny hand he was holding and carefully placed the object on her palm. Closing her fingers over it, he said by way of parting, "Take care, Leena. Goodbye!" 

Then with an agile leap and a sudden onslaught of dust and wind, the plane took off noisily into the air. Somewhere inside the Centran airport, the kids resumed their lustful wailing. And Leena Marie Slambert stood at the same spot long after the plane became a tiny speck of black in the open sky that she couldn't even see. 

* * * 

Standing in front of her bedroom mirror, Quistis Trepe's gloved hands shook slightly as she pinned her hair up into a no-nonsense bun, tucking wayward golden wisps behind her ears. Then they smoothed over creases on her dress, wiped pieces of lint away again and again, and finally one of them rested above her heart. 

She sighed and looked up, already expecting the sight that met her but still feeling quite surprised. The other hand traced her outline on the mirror. There was no hint of makeup on her face; no piece of jewelry adorned her, save for the blue orbs that served as a shocking contrast to her pasty white skin, a carefully arranged statement of blank indifference stamped on her harsh features. She looked what she felt – stretched, drawn-out, and so very, very tired. How she wanted to lay down, and never... wake up.... 

A knock on her door jolted her from her dreamy inspection. "Quisty." There was a pause as the person on the other side seemed to hesitate. "This is Rin. Can I come in?" 

Hastily, she gave one last fixing to her perfectly severe bun, and then let her arms hang limply to her sides. She took a deep breath. "Sure, come in." 

The door opened softly, and Rinoa Heartilly stood there, looking at her with concern, wearing an almost identical-looking dress. Her dark tresses hung freely behind her back, but her auburn eyes were pained. "Selphie and I are ready to go. She's waiting by the car." She tried to search Quistis' averted eyes but failed. "Are you sure you're up to this?" she gently inquired. "I mean, we can always tell them – " 

"I'm fine, Rinoa," Quistis cut in sharply. Then she gave off a shudder, and a moment later she turned to her friend, her face softening into a rueful half-smile. "I'm sorry." She briefly closed her eyes. "Can we just go now? I'd just –like to get this day over with." 

"Of course," Rinoa agreed, feeling no resentment at all. She held out a hand, which Quistis readily accepted. 

It was time to go.

* * * 

They were to arrive at Balamb in just a few more hours, the pilot informed him. Seifer sat back against his seat on the plane and enjoyed that rare moment of basking in (almost) total solitude, munching his fare of banana bread with raisins in satisfaction. 

Ever since he'd been assigned as Balamb Garden's ambassador two years ago, his life had become a whirlwind of social projects, goodwill missions, and diplomatic affairs, one after the other. Not that he minded a lot; to his surprise (and everyone else's, for that matter), being an ambassador and fighting the good fight instead of the other way around actually invigorated him in a way that he never thought possible. It was something that he had grown to like over the years, but not without misgivings; and it filled that void in him that had been present since his childhood days of mischief. His lips curved as he closed his eyes. Hyne, but it felt good to be needed. 

Four years of no sorceress bent on world domination had marked the beginning of national awareness and the importance of unity in all of Forsena. Peacekeeping missions had been established all over the land, and even Centra was now going to have its own Garden in just a matter of months. From being paid mercenaries, SeeD had evolved into an institution for justice, no longer hoarding for Gil or any other form of paid tribute (of course, donations were always welcome). The rampant search for sorceresses that had wreaked havoc for centuries had now died down into a controlled, private approach of seeking girls with "sorceress potential" and making sure that their innate powers would not be used for evil in the future. 

They were living in peaceful times. 

For Seifer, however, the turning point of his life had been his being readmitted back into the Garden. The first two years after Ultimecia's downfall had found him running, hiding deep into the Trabian mountains looking for he didn't know what. Neither penance nor forgiveness could change things for him then. Although Headmaster Cid had already declared forgiveness in behalf of the Garden, which had been the same for Raijin and Fujin, Seifer had refused to go along. Instead he insisted on going alone and leaving everything behind, without so much as a proper note, and drove himself into exile. 

By then, he had come to believe that he was going to be away forever – that was, until that fateful day when news reached him of the impending marriage between two of the celebrated heroes of the recent Sorceress War: Squall Leonhart and Rinoa Heartilly. And he knew that he had to come back, even if just to see her one last time. 

So he did. The sight of Rinoa in a flowing white dress leading a smiling Leonhart had quite literally taken his breath away. He hadn't known what he felt, seeing everyone familiar to him content in that joyous occasion (including his former posse); it was a combination of wistfulness and sweet regret for all things he had let flow away, yet at the same time he had felt as if a heavy weight was being lifted from him. And yes, he had felt then a fear he only dared acknowledge whenever he was asleep, when he could convince himself that it was all just a dream. Something he didn't want to think about now. 

He had been sure nobody could see him, as he had taken careful pains to stay hidden from view, but apparently not careful enough to avoid the former Sorceress Edea's shrewd eyes. After a meeting that would forever be etched into his mind, Seifer Almasy was back at the Garden. 

He was an ambassador six months later. 

At that, Seifer's musings were abruptly interrupted as the plane experienced several violent shakings, upon which he had to lean precariously against several seats to reach the cockpit. 

"What's happening?" he demanded, as he threw himself over the passenger seat and hurriedly strapped on his seat belt. 

The pilot had on a serene expression as he fumbled with several controls. "Just a slight accident, Sir. It seems the weather report was absolutely wrong this morning; I didn't read anything about thunderstorms occurring at any time today," he said just as thunder rumbled overhead. He slanted Seifer a look as the plane steadied and slowly went back to normal. "You never know with those Centrans, Sir. Must be all those years spent underground that makes them incapable of proper weather forecasting." He chuckled at his own words. 

_And yet you read their paper anyway_, Seifer thought. You never knew with these rude pilot rookies either, did you. 

Barely stifling the urge to roll his eyes, he settled to wondering if he was going to make it to Centra's headline tomorrow morning for his much-celebrated departure. Ha, ha. _Go to sleep, Almasy._

* * * 

Three hours later, it was a damp afternoon as Seifer was making his way down the familiar halls of Balamb Garden, a smile on his lips and a bounce to his steps. He was home. 

Whistling a merry tune (oddly enough, it was Selphie's train song), he stopped to wait in front of the elevator, deciding to report first thing to the headmaster before going to his campus rooms to shower and change (his own rooms being different from the dormitories the students used). After several minutes of staring like an arduous lover at the red arrow blinking non-stop in front of him, he proceeded to look around to see if some things had changed after his month-long absence. _Nope, same old trash can, same little ferny plant with little caterchipillars, same – wait, where are the students?_ With a frown, he noted that not only were there no students loitering about (it was break time according to his watch), but there were also none of those Buddhist-like Garden authorities with the wide, saucer-like hair coverings (who he now knew were called Magi) manning the floors. And it was more than a little disconcerting. Where were those girl cadets who were *secretly* members of the CC Group? Come to think of it, where was old Moogle boy running laps?! 

Just as he was about to explore more, the elevator sounded and the door opened with a whoosh. Two girl students, both wearing black scarves, stepped out quietly and promptly descended the stairs. With one last look at the closing elevator door, Seifer called to the girls. "Hey! Hey – wait up!" Not quite up to his usual diplomatic charm, but hey. They didn't look back and merely kept on walking. "Excuse me - a moment, if you please - Dammit, I said _wait_!" 

Sprinting to catch up, he ran in front of them and walked backwards, matching their every step as they headed outside. His mouth was halfway open to bombard them with questions, when he noticed the oddest thing yet – both the girls were _looking right through him_. Like he wasn't even there. The next thing he knew, one of the girls passed through his body effortlessly, as easily as someone who made a habit of walking through walls, and walked right out into the sunlight. 

* * * 

Still dazed and following at a distance, Seifer walked up to the entrance of the Balamb cemetery, hands deep in his pockets and the wind raging at his hair like it wanted to take him away, off to some faraway place. He watched as the girls made their way to a very solemn Selphie Tilmitt and quietly offered their condolences. He could feel his feet bringing him steadily forward, and he walked past people he knew, disliked, or altogether ignored, while staring straight ahead for that crowd of black-dressed people several steps away. Somehow he wasn't surprised at the lack of greetings and surprised gasps, he figured they couldn't see him as much as they could the air around him, but still a tiny part of him yearned to be noticed, and begged to be woken up from this very realistic, hazy dream. 

He stopped beside a familiar golden head. From where he now stood in front of a smooth, newly erected tombstone, he could see Zell Dincht looking off into the distance, unmoving; near him was Irvine Kinneas comforting a now-sobbing Selphie. A crying Selphie was something he never thought he'd witness, and he had to look away as it brought to him a queer sense of injustice he didn't know how to explain. Scanning the crowd once more, his gaze landed on a sober Squall Leonhart standing a few feet apart from everyone, his eyes down and hooded. For a fleeting instant, Seifer thought he was seeing old Puberty Boy again - rising dignified and alone. Eternally scowling. _And always loved_, he reflected, as Rinoa came over and took Squall's hand, leading him away from his own dark cloud. 

Raijin and Fujin, his childhood companions, were strangely missing from the scene. He stayed that way for several minutes, not daring to do anything but stand still, the late afternoon sun blinding his eyes and the birds singing threnodies as befitting the occasion. The sun was already starting its slow descent to find momentary solace away from eager, searching eyes, giving way gracefully to the darkness that waited. All of it was lost to Seifer. 

A good deal later, with a morose sigh of acceptance and puzzlement, he finally gave up and looked down at the tombstone he had tried so hard to disregard, still unconsciously hoping it would fade away with the black wings of night. But there it remained, clearly bathed in moonlight, etched in achingly flowing script, the inscription: 

_Seifer Travis Almasy _

_December 22, 3985 – May 11, 4007 _

_A man stripped of everything, _

_and gave everything _

_but pride. _

_And pride was his downfall, _

_And pride his salvation. _

He could feel himself shaking. Seifer Almasy, he noted with feverish, hysterical glee, was dead. Just that morning, he was. He was dead. His laughter echoed, unsurpassed; floating, unchecked, never fully swallowed by the night. 

* * *

*Just a little something I was playing with. Should I continue? I don't think the still-wispy ideas that encouraged this fic are nobly original; in fact, I rather believe it's been stomped and irreversibly done to death even before far worthier fanfiction writers have started to make epics with the same ideas in mind. Be that as it may, this is all just for fun really. All I'm asking for is that you please inform me if you are writing/know of a story that sounds much the same like this one (well, as much as you can compare given only one chapter! ^_^), so I can try to avoid any more similarities in plot and at the same time, avoid even deeper pits of mindless cliché. Thankies!


	2. Pighati, Pagtanggap

So I've decided to continue this fic, after all. sheepish After a year of frustrating PC breakdowns, I had thought _Loop_ was really meant to be just a one-shot, and one with so many loose ends, at that. That said, I realize that I am merely and completely at the mercy of the voices in my head, hence this extremely late next chap. Seeing as the sem break is here in the Philippines, and hoping that future circumstances would contrive to work with me (meaning no sudden PC blowouts, or hard-drive wipeouts –please, not that!), and owing to the fact that I am endlessly optimistic, I daresay I could churn out some new chapters before probably hiding inside my preferred manhole again come the second semester. See, I just refuse to leave this thing hanging, since it's my first and maybe the only multi-chaptered continuous fic that I will undertake. Reviews, as always, would be greatly appreciated, though I will continue this regardless. Oh, and I have to note that references to this are present on an old one-shot of mine (**Take a Chance**), which dealt with Fujin and Seifer's first meeting as kids. I know, I know, this is shameless plugging, but it does save a lot of space to just refer to that for some of the details found here rather than incorporate whole new ideas.

Lots of gratitude to **Miss Black Dragon, rendezvous, Irith Oronar, Griever5, Wind Chime Bells, **and **Draic**, for reviewing the first chap and providing valuable insights and suggestions. I can only hope you guys get wind of this update, and not be so disappointed with this follow-up afterwards. crosses fingers Anyway, I think it's rather apparent that after a year's hiatus, I have yet to learn to shut up in my author's notes, and that I still manage to blab incessantly without ever really saying anything important. ; So yes, that concludes my nonsense. Criticize away. Happy reading!

**Loop**

_**i do not love you as if you were salt rose or topaz**_

_**or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off**_

**_i love the way certain dark things are to be loved _**

**_in secret between the shadow and the soul. _**

_**- Pablo Neruda**_

**Two: Pighati, Pagtanggap**

The echoes of bells signaling the last hour of the day floated off to where she was standing, the air around her vibrating with the tones as she stood motionless and staring. For the past half-hour, she had been doing nothing else; the words etched in starlight a few feet away already living in her mind, pulsing with every letter and curve and dot, defying the rigid figure that must lie underneath grass and marble tombstone. Now, as the wind picked up, she woke from the trance that held her and heard once again the odd harmony of crickets singing with the crumpled sighs of leaves borne by the breeze. She sighed, and this first audible sign of life from the still figure of only moments ago prompted another, and another, as her body shook with dry, ragged sobs.

Once, she had loved the man whose grave this was. Loved him as both friend and comrade; even now, she was confident with the claim that she was one of the very few who had ever really seen the character beneath those always curious eyes. Once, she had loved him as a woman was meant to love a man; in secret, between the shadow and the soul. She had loved him once, and she loved him still.

Her cheeks were damp, she realized, and her nose was running, she was breathing hard. She felt the patch of cloth that covered her left eye, its rough texture so comfortingly familiar, and found it soaked. With numbed shock, she looked back on all those years of conviction, (and solid faith), and thought that this time, the eyepatch had been unable to keep the tears from flowing steadily, after all. The dam had burst, and the anguish would not stop.

She was trembling as she turned away to go back to the Garden. Nursing the fury that boiled within her at her apparent moment of weakness, Fujin Terminus vowed that after this one time – just once, she would succumb – the eyepatch would never be soaked with tears again.

* * *

When his presence had still been acknowledged in that world (for Seifer, being true to his nature, still resisted being called "dead"), he had often wondered what it would be like for Forsena if and when Seifer Almasy died. A sudden tragic death, a clumsy fall off a cliff, or a poisoned apple – he scorned at the limitless options, but given the choice he would rather he die a hero, just as he had always imagined his father to have been while he was growing up. An unknown hero, he had liked to pretend, since at the time of his childhood there were no "heroes" that he actually found to his liking from the history books he had been forced to read. From the details of their exploits, he thought them all to be stubborn, dreary men who had no sense of glory or adventure.

During some of these musings, a part of him had entertained the idea that his death would somehow move his oldest friend, even toyed with the possibility that she would grieve for him as normal people do, with tears and sobs, only minus the wailing and gnashing of teeth – for this was Fujin, after all.

What he just saw, however, behind the tree he had been leaning against for the past hours since he had read that incredulous tombstone and laughed wildly at the night, shook him into an unsettling sobriety. It had been easy to let his thoughts wander on with all the possibilities; what moved him was the fulfillment of that one possibility that he had thought least likely to occur. His oldest friend had wept; wry, stoical Fujin who had shared all his mad fancies with patience and quiet wisdom, had lost her reserve and cried. For him.

He could feel his jaw set stubbornly, and what filled him then was so reminiscent of that natural high he had felt years ago when he had opted to flaunt all authority and had allied himself with a sorceress. Seifer Almasy was _not_ dead, dammit; and he would know what was going on _even if it killed him._ A night owl hooted his approval from above, huge eyes prowling the dark for casual prey.

And if he found out he was really dead? Well then, he wouldn't stay dead for long.

* * *

With silent intensity, Squall Leonhart watched the ever-creeping sunlight that lengthened along the lines of his sleeping wife's blanket, saw her face being slowly revealed. He had been up for hours now, though what little slept he had had been filled with visions of a familiar cocky grin and the matching mocking, baritone voice. For the first time ever in his life, Squall had dreamt of his oldest rival. And they really were nightmares, the stuff that he'd always thought were limited to a young cadet's mind after the event of his first kill. He didn't need thoughts of a dead person plaguing him now. Not now, on his first day on the job. And so he'd looked at her, long hours of looking, finding peace.

Dark brown eyes opened, reflecting his face on their windows. _Beautiful eyes._

"Did you sleep well?" he asked quietly.

"And good morning to you, too," she mumbled, lips forming into a smile. "Slept like a baby, thank you very much." Probably noticing bags under his eyes, she reached out her hand and rubbed his cheek. _Comfort._ "I gather you didn't sleep at all?"

He hesitated, wanting to avoid the question. "I had... dreams. Bad dreams," he admitted, feeling very naked in her gaze. There was no use lying though, not with her. _No, not with her. _

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "Do you want me to tell Cid you can't go in today?"

"Can't. First day," he said, regretting the words but having no choice.

"I'm sure he'll understand. C'mon, I'll even fix you breakfast." Her smile this time was shy. "And I won't burn anything. Promise."

Feeling himself starting the long fall into her spell, he laid her hand back gently and stood up. "Cid might, but the Centrans are waiting for me. You should go back to sleep."

"I'd rather help you dress, Mr. Ambassador," she said playfully, sitting up on the bed.

An hour later, he was ready to go. He stood by the door of the little house they had bought on the outskirts of Balamb town, and drafts from the ocean kept the air cool and somehow, surreal and good. _And so light_. He turned to her and bowed. "Goodbye, Mrs. Leonhart."

She bowed back just as formally. "I will, Mr. Leonhart. You come home as soon as you can, okay?"

She was peace for his nightmares. And comfort and light. His heart was in his throat as he saw the glint of love in her eyes that she was trying so bravely to hide. "I will. Take care of yourself, Rin." He walked away with steady strides.

"We will," she called back to him softly, her voice carried by the wind, love pouring steady from her eyes, her hand resting gently on her abdomen.

* * *

She was being followed, and it was getting boring. Her follower was good, though, and if it weren't for a chance look at a passing motorcycle's mirror she would never have separated the distinct footfalls from the sound of raindrops crashing against the pavement. Oh he was good, but her instincts were better. Few could match those instincts.

And so here she was, setting a trap for the formidably tall man she had glimpsed earlier. If he wasn't so good, she wouldn't have bothered. But he was, so her interest was piqued. Good skills meant business. And Fujin Terminus, right then, the night after yesterday's trip to the cemetery, was in sore need of some distraction.

"Sorry. Dead end," she drawled lazily from behind the man, who seemed so familiar even from a distance and whom darkness had enveloped until now, as she made to reveal her long form from behind the shadows. Moonlight made her hair silver. Grief made her dangerous.

A series of curses could be heard from the tall figure who still refused to turn around and face her. Then suddenly, he did. And he was laughing with amusement, and incredulity, and shock that she could see him. He _knew_ he wasn't dead. "I did train you after all," he got in between side-aching laughter. Laughter, so much laughter, and she was frozen with shock.

_Hyne_, she thought dazedly. Never knowing it was possible until now, Fujin Terminus fainted to the ground.

* * *

"This is a nice party," Squall was saying to the director of the _Centra Center for Disadvantaged Children _at about the same time, miles and miles away from the apparition of a dead man. He knew Cid had made a mistake appointing him as new ambassador, but it had never been so apparent until then as he was attempting to small talk his way into dinner with all eyes on his imposing figure. Black and blue and green and grey and brown eyes (his favorite) stared at him and studied unabashedly, eyes from kids short and tall and gawky and fat and chubby, kids garbed with their best clothes and had been reprimanded to act their best behavior. But kids, being kids, seemed natural deviants as Squall noted several stains on dresses and shirts that he could swear had been immaculate just earlier. Early on into the evening, and Squall knew it was going to be long.

The director was saying something to him regarding his stupidly made remark, but he wasn't listening. His SeeD training was already helping him spy the way out. Into the bathroom, and fast.

His eyes swept through the simply garbed halls, amidst children laughing and crying, adults admonishing, and saw an amiable-looking man with a pot belly step out from a room just beyond the corridor to the right. _There_, he thought with amazing relief.

"Excuse me," he said, cutting in on Mrs. Shinra's speech, "I uh, um, need to wash this away," he explained, fumbling, while the hands that had wielded a gunblade not so long ago expertly tipped the wineglass he had been sipping from inconspicuously into his shirt. Orange liquid spread quickly.

"Oh of course, Mr. Leonhart," the kindly woman allowed. "The bathroom's over there," she said, pointing to the room Squall had marked out.

Nodding his thanks, Squall made his way quickly, relishing the break. He was concentrating so hard that he never saw the little girl that blocked his way until it was too late, and she was sitting on the ground.

In a second, Squall was by his side, helping her up. Later, he would think how strange it was that she never cried out from the contact, but now Squall was immersed with fixing his recent blunder that marked another colorful landmark into his not-so-flourishing career.

"I'm really sorry. Are you hurt?" he asked stupidly as he helped her up, his eyes efficiently surveying for any cut, any bruise.

"No sir, I'm okay," her musical voice answered him. Completely throwing him off with her next move, she squared her shoulders and stood straight, she held out her hand to him in a manner that outshone even the director's welcome. "Leena Slambert, sir. I live in the Center."

"Leena," he repeated, a little surprised. Her name rolled smoothly off his tongue. Not knowing what else to do, he took the tiny hand offered him. "Hello, Leena. I am – "

"Oh, I know who you are, sir. I was paying attention a while ago while you were being introduced," she confided proudly.

He grinned. The girl had spirit. She reminded him a bit of Selphie, but she seemed – harder, somehow, at such a young age. She wore a pink dress full of ribbons and... _lace, _he thought, unsure of his fashion knowledge. _White lace with a shiny silver pin on her chest._ The pin was familiar, and he moved to study the curious engraving on the front. He couldn't believe there existed another pin like this in the whole of Forsena. But before he could study it more, Leena pointed questioningly to the stain on his shirt.

"Your shirt's dripping, Sir," she said, gingerly poking the spot.

A little embarrassed, Squall stopped his scrutiny, and looked to where she was pointing. Wine was slowly dripping into the floor. "I'll fix this up in the bathroom," he told her, unsure of why he was explaining and why he was still here. And in that moment, she smiled and her whole face lit up, truly Selphie's favored expression now. Her eyes shone with the light, the clearest blue he had ever seen, the color of the Balamb sky as reflected by the ocean that morning. _Beautiful eyes. _


End file.
